Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Yesterday was one of those days that puts the general notion of “a case of the Mondays” to shame.

Around 8 a.m. I arrived at the BART station (Bay Area's version of the subway) a few minutes from my house to find them doing construction on more than half of the parking lot, and the other half was already full. They hadn't made accommodations for riders to park anywhere else at the station or nearby, so when I asked the project leader, “Where the fuck am I supposed to park, you small-dicked toad fucker?” he replied with, “Try the station in the next town over."

You fucking kidding me, Dick Weasel? How the fuck is that going to help me catch my 8:09 train now that’s it’s 8:02!?!? Fantastic.

Being the resourceful gent I am, I decided to park next to the roped-off area that’s blocking a driveway. It wasn’t a spot, but would serve beautifully as one with the caution tape sealing off the driveway. I ask my new bud, Dick Weasel, about it and he says it’s OK with him, but I would need to run it by the BART officials. So I walked the quarter mile from the lot to the station and found a grumpy-ass woman who was in desperate need of a cigarette and a vibrator. I told Grumpy-ass Woman what I've done, proud of myself on the inside for my resourcefulness, only for her to respond by telling me that I can’t park there because it’s not a numbered stall which prevents me from paying the $1 to the automated machine that accepts tolls.

"Fine," I said. “How ‘bout I pay you $1 and you write me a receipt which I can put in my car to validate my payment? Then the big, bad BART Police won’t give me a ticket." (This is true, by the way. There is such thing as the BART Police. They have their own uniforms and jurisdiction to prove it.)

Grumpy-ass Woman gave me a look that suggested that this wasn't gonna fly. I tried to fight her on it, even suggested a bribe to no avail. I AM GONNA GO MICHAEL DOUGLAS FROM "FALLING DOWN" ON THIS FUCKING BITCH!!!

I then had to return the ¼ mile to my car. At this point my 8:09 train was long gone and I knew I was going to be late for work.

Not wanting to go to another station and experience a similar problem, I looked for parking in town and found a 4-hour spot on a small hill about a half-mile away. I only mention these distances because it’s already 85 degrees and I have dress shoes on. Walking in my dress shoes is liking walking on nails. Nails that have been sitting on red-hot coals. Nails that have been sitting on red-hot coals covered with donkey feces.

I eventually caught a later train that got me to work about a half hour late. Everything was fine and dandy for the time being. Around 9:30 a.m., I made a call to my roommate who now was going to have to take my spare keys and move my car twice back and forth on this street with 4-hour parking.

Luckily, she was only pretty pissed opposed to the “I’m going to rip your dick off when you get home, Fuck Face” response I had expected. This is fantastic. I want to keep my penis, thanks.

Everything's going just great. I had made it to work, my car was being taken care of to avoid a parking ticket and I get to keep my dick. Happy fucking Monday.

But I got a call from the roomie about an hour later, as she’s gone to move my car.

I have a ticket.

"Impossible," I said. I parked at 8:10 and it’s not even 11. I’ll fight this shit if I have to. But no way have I been there four hours. The 4-hour limit didn't start until 7 a.m.

“It’s not a traffic ticket," I'm explained. "It’s a $40 ticket for not curbing your wheels.”

A $40 TICKET FOR NOT CURBING MY FUCKING WHEELS!?!? I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT CURBED WHEELS ARE!!! A DUDE ONCE GOT CURBED IN "AMERICAN HISTORY X." AM I SUPPOSED TO PUT MY CAR'S BUMPER ON A CURB AND SMASH IT IN WITH MY FOOT? AND SINCE WHEN IS THAT EVEN A FUCKING LAW?!?! ISN'T THAT LIKE A SUGGESTION?!?! "HEY, CURB YOUR WHEELS TO KEEP YOUR CAR FROM SLIDING DOWN THE HILL. YOUR CAR WILL THANK YOU FOR IT." FOR FUCK'S SAKE, I PUT MY PARKING BRAKE ON! AND WHY WOULD THIS STREET MERIT YOU CURB YOUR FUCKING WHEELS?!?! THIS IS A MIDWEST HILL! I CAN SEE FUCKING IOWA FROM HERE!

Good stuff out of Augusta, Ga. last week. An extra-inning affair between the Rome Braves and the Augusta GreenJackets seemed to be decided when Matt Kennelly launched what appeared to be a tie-breaking home run in the 10th. But home plate ump Erik Hill called the shot foul.

Monday, June 29, 2009

The Giants were in Milwaukee this weekend and in between furniture-breaking losses and solid wins, we were able to take in the Brewers' (and County Stadium's/Miller Park's) fantastic traditions. Naturally, that got us thinking of baseball's best stadium traditions.

Disclaimer: We've only been to about half of the Major League parks and clearly don't know the teams' traditions as well as the locals. While this list is designed for stadium-led (opposed to fan-led) promos, all traditions are welcomed. Help us out with your favorites in the comments.

5. The Rally Monkey

This is really a horrible tradition and the Rally Monkey is actually related to that monkey in Outbreak who brought a deadly airborne virus to California. This is only on the list because a list of four things is pretty weak and five is better. But the Rally Monkey totally sucks and is responsible for war, famine and poverty. Bitter? Not us.

A staple at Shea Stadium, the Mets' Home Run Apple has made its way to Citi Field. After every Mets homer, the shiny red apple comes out of the magic hat. (If that doesn't sound suggestive, we don't know what does.)

3. Bernie's Dugout

After every homer and Milwaukee victory at Miller Park, Bernie the Brewer slides down his slide onto a platform. In the 80s, shit was cooler when he would plunge himself into a vat of beer. That was awesome. Bernie the Brewer could drink any mascot under the table.

2. Take Me Out to the Ball Game at Wrigley

Harry Caray brought this wonderful tradition to Wrigley Field in the early 80s when he led the crowd in the song during the Seventh-inning Stretch. After Caray's passing after the 1997 season, the Cubs now have a special guest lead the crowd in song -- most of whom suck.

Simply a promotion for Klement's Sausage Company, the race between the Bratwurst, Italian Sausage, Hot Dog, Chorizo and Polish began in the early 90s and remains strong nearly 20 years later. Occurring before the bottom of the sixth, the Sausage Race is always a good time for the fans and contestants. Are you the betting type? Our money is always on the Bratwurst.

Friday, June 26, 2009

We're just going to come right out and say it: Yesterday's NBA Draft was a huge dud. We're big Draft guys -- football, basketball, even baseball (to an extent) -- and even made the effort to watch this one at a bar that was showing it on a corner-of-the-room TV that didn't have sound. That's Draft dedication.

But that dedication didn't pay off. We weren't in it just to see a small white man read the names of big black ones. We wanted chaos. We wanted reaches. We wanted steals. We wanted trades. Like lots of trades. Like the T-Wolves trading picks No. 5 and 6 for Dwight Howard. That kind of chaos. The kind of what-the-fuck-just-happened?!?! moves that get you out of your seat as your beer splashes across the table. We've come to expect that with the NBA Draft, and it's one of the main reasons we really enjoy it. Crazy shit happens on NBA Draft day. Stars change teams. Teams select a player FOR ANOTHER TEAM!

We didn't get any of that. We got rumors. We fucking love rumors. Except on Draft day. On Draft day we want action. We want fact. Steph Curry and others for Amar'e Stoudemire?!?!?! Confirm that shit ON DRAFT DAY! Don't make us wait until morning to find out if it becomes official. Hearing about a deal after-the-fact softens the impact and curbs the excitement.

As for Draft-day trades, we don't give a shit about B.J. Mullens getting traded for Rodrigue Beaubois. Give us something real!

Other Draft thoughts:

-Ok, fine, Minnesota took a lot of guards. But they dished two of them (Lawson to Denver, Calathes to Dallas), which was not surprising, and with a front court of Kevin Love and Al Jefferson, they didn't need to go big. So get over it. And Little Bitch Rubio might not play in the NBA next year, anyway. But we love Jonny Flynn. S-T-U-D.

-Speaking of foreign players, why the fuck do teams draft them in the first round? It's a total throw-away pick. Victor Claver? You fucking serious? This guy is going to be about as good as Todd Fuller at two-thirds strength. Christian Eyenga won't see a minute on an NBA floor and will be lucky to get garbage time in the D-League. Gotta hope these picks were cap-based opposed to talent-based.

-Austin Daye might not survive a year in Detroit. And we don't mean on the Pistons. This guy better toughen up or the streets of the Motor City will swallow him whole.

-Favorite pick of the first round might be Terrence Williams to New Jersey. Big fan of that guy. He's the type of player that makes a team better. Least favorite picks are the four international scrubs taken in the last nine picks of the first round. And Daye.

Thursday, June 25, 2009

The gym was fucking packed, smelled like the inside of a vagina that had just been shit in and was hotter than a sauna. Bad start.

It's late, I'm tired, I'm in a shitty mood and all I want to do is get in and out of the gym, hassle free.

It's my time for some shoulder press. For that exercise, I (and everybody else on this fucking planet) prefer a bench with a short back, like pictured above. My gym has two of these benches.

I go to the bench and see another dude standing by it, yet it's not marked with a towel or anything. I ask him if he's using it, sort of putting my stuff down as I ask. He says that he is. I ask him how many sets he has and he says he just started. OK, whatever, I'll come back.

Then as I move on with my workout, I see Fuckface doing this:

You fucking cocksucker. There are like five of those flat benches at my gym, yet this joke decided to do his rows on one of two benches clearly NOT designed for rows. And he did like 10 FUCKING SETS!!! I had to use some shitty bench not designed for shoulder press (but probably perfectly designed for rows).

Most mornings, we'll lead off the day with some AM headlines -- but not your traditional ones. Rather we'll focus on one game or story and write headlines that are completely inconsequential and insignificant to the outcome of the game. We'll give a few examples and then you'll play in the comments. Best headline (read: the one that makes us laugh the hardest) will get a shoutout in this space the next day. We'll provide the box score for the game as that can lend itself to plenty of content. Let's have some fun. The more insignificant, the better!

Tuesday's winner: HM with this from the U.S. Open: "Extra 40 pounds not enough to make Duval a winner"

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Once thought a pioneer -- he's a billionaire NBA owner and he blogs! He's just like us! -- Mark Cuban is sorta not cool with blogs anymore and no one else should be, either, because Mark Cuban said so, dammit.

Has anyone noticed that its impossible to trust a single word uttered about coaching changes, the draft, trades and even celebration parties these days?

Unfortunately, ESPN and local newspapers, radio and TV media have become the patsies of bloggers. If some random blogger reports that “he has heard that a trade of Joe for John is being discussed”, then the traditional media, as they have told me many times “is requested by their editor to run it down and see if its real.” It's almost like a sad joke. How do you make an ESPN reporter jump? Make up something and put it on your blog. Somewhere a bunch of sports bloggers are playing a drinking game. Chug if the other guys made up trade rumor makes the ESPN crawl.

How to stop it? ESPN.com puts up a page of blacklisted blogs and websites who’s posts they wont comment on or report on in any way. It will create a short term surge of traffic for those sites, but then they will go away as the proprietors of the sites realize that being discredited is not a good thing.

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

You Know What Really Grinds My Gears (named after the segment on Family Guy, of course) is a new feature that will run whenever the fuck we want it to...but usually on a slow news day. It will focus on those pet peeves that, well, really grind your gears. It likely won't be sports-related. Fuck sports. This isn't a sports blog anyway...Oh. Right. Um, yeah, we'll see about making them sports-related. If you have any suggestions -- or would even like to guest write one! -- send your submissions to zachls5@gmail.com or Ballhype us or something Internet-y like that.

You know what really grinds my gears?

Fruit in the middle of a birthday cake.

Raspberry cake is red because it's from the devil

Fruit has its time and place. Like in a salad or in sorbet form. But when I have cake, I want fucking butter and lard and cream and chocolate and sometimes vanilla and lots of fucking colored frosting. No part of me wants to even think about fruit.

Cake is perhaps the best desert of them all. I fucking love cake. I used to celebrate my half birthday because it meant my parents getting me a second cake a year. And not that fancy shit with like white chocolate and marzipan. I want my fucking cake covered in rainbow frosting. No. Rainbow frosting is not gay. Or maybe it is. I don't care. It brings me to a happy place, so fuck you.

Care Bears cake is also awesome and totally not gay

Talk about ruining something that's great. Putting fruit in the middle of a birthday cake is like raisins in oatmeal cookies, a shemale in a porno, having to wear a condom during head.

I've been having a lot of cake lately because I fucking love cake and cake fucking loves me. I've celebrated a lot of birthdays in the last two weeks and three of the four cakes I've eaten lately had fruit in them.

One was this huge, white-frosting number from Costco. It looked pretty bomb with all sorts of colored frosting and shit, but then I cut in and I'm slapped across the face with a hand of deceit and betrayal. I didn't do anything to that cake. Why did it have to do something to me?

So fuck you, fruit-filled cake. May you be poisoned by your worthless product.

Had the chance several weeks back to watch batting practice on the field in Oakland. Of course, we were only invited on the field for about the last 15-20 minutes, and it was while the visiting Diamondbacks were in the cage. Some thoughts about watching from the field:

-It's not that cool to go on the field when the only place you get to stand is the warning track right in front of the backstop.

-The foul territory at the Oakland Coliseum is bigger than Zach's porn collection.

-The most interesting part is getting to see the trajectory of the ball off the bat and the movement it takes when hooking or slicing. It also makes you realize just how far it is when they hit one out.

-The group of guys hitting was Eric Byrnes and a bunch of bums. Unless of course those bums were really good players that I just didn't recognize. Byrnes is pretty much a bum himself.

-There were a lot of Arizona fans on the field with us. They pretty much all looked like douche-bags. You know, D'Bags. One of them was a woman who I later noticed was wearing a jersey that said FTNSSFRK or something like that on the nameplate. I suppose that indicates that she likes fitness. Real cool. I thought about getting Zach a Giants jersey with the same name on back.

-There's really nothing like grass on a baseball field. Can I get some in my yard please?

-Overall I was pretty underwhelmed by the experience. Next time I want to shag flies.

Most mornings, we'll lead off the day with some AM headlines -- but not your traditional ones. Rather we'll focus on one game or story and write headlines that are completely inconsequential and insignificant to the outcome of the game. We'll give a few examples and then you'll play in the comments. Best headline (read: the one that makes us laugh the hardest) will get a shoutout in this space the next day. We'll provide the box score for the game as that can lend itself to plenty of content. Let's have some fun. The more insignificant, the better!

Monday, June 22, 2009

A while back our pals at Seattle Sportsnet made a fantastic list of the sports fans we love to hate and then followed it up with part two. While hate is normally in our blood, the sun is shining, the halter tops are out and summer has officially begun; those things put us in a happy place. So rather than discussing the common sports fans we hate, we thought we'd put out there the ones we love.

8. The Teacher

Characteristics: New father or grandfather; accompanied by young child; khakis, dress shirt and home team's cap; even demeanor; patience; probably looks and sounds like Peter Falk from The Princess Bride.

Love 'em because: Everyone needs a good teacher. This fan is there explaining the game to the fan of the future. The Teacher will put up with the silly questions and find pleasure in bonding with youth over a sporting event.7. The Radio Listener

Characteristics: Middle-aged; hat is covered with pins; unshaven; headphones purchased in early 90s.

Love 'em because: The Radio Listener does not want to hear your bullshit. The Radio Listener does not want to hear the little boy ask his parents for another fucking malt. The Radio Listener does not want to hear that obnoxious heckler who has made it very clear that the pitcher is a bum.

The Radio Listener cares about the game and only about the game. In tune with the broadcast, this fan wants Xs and Os from the experts and that's it.

6. The Loyalist

Characteristics: Patient; happy-go-lucky; has solo season ticket; never leaves the game early; likes to make conversation with those around.

Love 'em because: The Loyalist will wait out the two-hour rain delay in Washington just to see the Nats lose 9-3 to the Marlins. Rain, repeated losing, family...nothing gets between The Loyalist and his team. The stadium is his home and he's just happy to be there.

5. The Rally Starter

Characteristics: Loud; confident; decked out in the team's apparel; makes friends with those around him; won high-school championship.

Love 'em because: The Rally Starter is a guy you love on your side and hate when he's against you. Kinda like Jonathan Papelbon. Or anyone on the Red Sox, really.

He'll be the optimistic one when you're down by six with a minute left and the other team at the free throw line; or when losing by two possessions entering the fourth quarter; or when you're trailing by two entering the bottom of the ninth. He's not naïve, just confident. With the support of The Rally Starter, "loss" is not in the vocabulary.

Love 'em because: The Scorekeeper is dedicated. Plain and simple. Not the type to cheer wildly for the 450-foot shot, but rather keeps to himself and records the homer in the scorebook. Wondering what the No. 3 hitter did in his second at-bat? Go make friends with The Scorekeeper.

3. Nervous, Worst-Case-Scenario Guy Who Lives and Dies with Every Pitch/Play/Possession.

Love 'em because: Nervous, Worst-Case-Scenario Guy Who Lives and Dies with Every Pitch/Play/Possession really fucking cares. Like a lot. This is your true fan. This is the fan that has seen the home team blow a 20-point halftime lead. This is the fan that has seen the closer give up three runs in the top of the ninth in the playoffs. This is the fan that has seen the onside kick recovered by the opponent. But this is the fan that keeps coming back.

Devoted, passionate and sincere, Nervous, Worst-Case-Scenario Guy Who Lives and Dies with Every Pitch/Play/Possession is as die-hard as they come.

2. The Purist

Characteristics: Wearing sport apparel but not of any particular team; pensive; happy to chit-chat but comfortable in silence; looking for ample opportunities to clap.

Love 'em because: The Purist is there strictly for the love of the game.

The Purist will applaud a good play by the opposing team, give a standing ovation to an opposing pitcher who just threw a complete-game shutout and nod their head at a well-designed play.

The Purist may root for a certain team, but as long as the game is being played the way it's meant to be played, that's all that really matters.

1. The Hot Chick

Characteristics: Heavy make-up; high heels; club wear; guy on her arm; drink in hand; has absolutely no idea what type of sporting event she is actually at.

Love 'em because: Sports are so great because they often can be amazing without T and A. Yet when the two cross paths, good things often happen. We've all been to that 5-2 snoozefest in the summer, yet when you have The Hot Chick in the row in front of you, cleavage, legs and maybe a thong shot can keep you plenty entertained while your favorite team makes you feel stupid for spending $50 to see a dud of a game.

Thoughts, disagreements and other fans we love to love in the comments, please.

Friday, June 19, 2009

Bravo's Real Housewives series, which focuses on women who don't do laundry, dishes or their husbands, is coming to Miami where its cast will include six hookers and a tranny.

Cable’s Bravo is working on a Real Housewives of Miami project. No real surprise here since there’s after all a version of the alleged reality series in just about every area of the country. More surprising, however, are some names on the tentative casting list obtained by the Miami Herald: former Palm Beach County resident Leah Black, star drag-queen Elaine Lancaster; former club owner Ingrid Cesares; Tracy Mourning, wife of former Miami Heat star Alonzo Mourning.

Tracy's housewife duties included making Chicken Cacciatore and many trips to the doctor's office. She is also a philanthro...LOOK AT THOSE TITTIES! WHOA! YOU COULD MOTORBOAT THE SHIT OUT OF THOSE!

Thursday, June 18, 2009

The following is written by David Kamoe, a life-long sports fan whose sister is a close friend. David is an avid A's fan, wen to to high school with Drew Gooden and can't believe that Giants commentator Mike Krukow used to refer to the right-centerfield expanse at Pac Bell Park as "Finley Alley," referring to Steve Finley who remarkably wore a Giants uniform for a season. David will likely be stopping by these parts a few times a month, so treat him right. And no sister jokes.

Perhaps it is because I strayed from the A’s in the early nineties. Maybe it’s because I waited for six years after the publication of Moneyball before I began reading it. I don’t think that’s it.

I offer the following commercial slogan from the aforementioned nineties: “Squeeze the fun out of it!” Such was the command of General Mills’ sugary drink “squeeze-it.” Such is how I feel reading about the rise of Bill James and his sabrmetrics. I have never met Mr. James nor have I read any of his publications. What I have gleaned, however, is that Mr. James appears to be over analyzing the sport of baseball.

To be fair, I am just as much a fan of a good stat as anyone else. Bob Gibson’s 1.12 ERA for the entire 1968 season is unconscious. Johnny Van Der Meer pitching back-to-back no-hitters is ridiculous. So to is Brooks Robinson winning 16 gold gloves throughout his illustrious career. These are all stats to be true. What is lost about these men is that they have and had incredible immeasurable talent. Bob Gibson is 74 years old and last pitched for the Cardinals in 1975. I’m convinced he could get guys out today if umpires would let him establish the inside corners. Brooks Robinson was so dominant at third that often is the time I have heard Ray Fosse talk about hitting during BP and saying “Nice play Brooks” whenever a ball was hit toward third.

I understand that fantasy baseball is a burgeoning money making industry that creates more interest in the game for those who would otherwise gamble. I also realize that it creates an entire wing of ESPN with Matthew Berry at the helm. That’s dandy but that’s not me. I have been asked a few times why I don’t play fantasy baseball and I offer that I don’t want to root against guys on my team. Such is not the full nature of Sabrmetrics or Stats Inc.

Sabrmetrics is a system of compiling stats and creating OPS as a way of noting that bunting and stealing bases is bad. It also completely de-values defense because you can stat defense. You can use your eyes though and I can tell when someone makes a good or bad play. Coaches the league over chart these things to know how to position outfielders. Eric Chavez gave his first gold glove to then A’s third base coach Ron Washington because he valued his teaching so much. Yet somehow, the idea of defense can’t be stated and thus doesn’t matter as much.

The mantra is “defense wins championships.” While I used to roll my eyes whenever I heard Rick Barry say it on KNBR, it is true. Look at the 2006 Detroit Tigers in the World Series. Each game, a pitcher on the Tigers had an error. Even Kenny Rogers whose errors are usually limited to Texas area cameramen. They lost to Tony LaRussa and the Cardinals in five games.

Above all this, I’m trying to watch the game. There is something pure about green grass, sunshine, and white uniforms. That’s baseball. The crack of the bat, the roar of the crowd, and someone making the difficult look routine. What devalues baseball in the eyes of some fans is the appeal to the casual fan. What’s also a fact is that there are more statistics around baseball than during the election. Then again, that would make Nate Silver’s ability to predict poll results all the more understandable.

Fuck You, Penguin is officially the funniest site in the history of humor. So we're going to copy it as much as possible -- but in a sports way. They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. If you don't think this is funny, well, you suck and once let your dog lick peanut butter off your penis.

Oh don't get me started, Seagull. Wrigley Field is not the motherfucking beach. There is no sand here. There is no water here. There are no women frolicking in bikinis begging to be ravaged by any species of males.

This is a baseball stadium, Seagull. Reed Johnson does not want you all up in his shit. Speaking of shit, do not shit on Reed Johnson. He only likes that when he's been drinking.

The thing is, Seagull, you can't come alone. Can't leave home without your friends, can you? It's all about strength in numbers for you birds. You need your entire entourage to validate that you're an asshole.

But the game's up, Seagull. You're down by six with two outs in the ninth. There's a high fly to center and BAM! You lose, Seagull.

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Seems like the gap between Michael Vick's dog slaying sentence and that of Donte' Stallworth's DUI manslaughter is rather wide.

After all, they were just dogs he slaughtered (cue the torch-carrying mob) while an innocent 59-year-old man was hit by a drunk driver.

On the surface, it'd seem Stallworth's crime was far more severe, but the sentences would indicate otherwise. We think there are two key reasons for that:

1. Stallworth's was a horrible, unthinkable accident that we wouldn't wish on anyone (how the hell do you live with that?). But he took complete accountability for his mistake. He handled the situation in as responsible a way as he could -- he cooperated with the police, didn't flee the scene after the accident and apologized profusely. As awful as a tragedy as this is, there's sympathy for apology.

Vick tortured dogs. And didn't seem to think twice about it or feel any remorse for doing it. In many ways, it seemed he enjoyed it. And he certainly wasn't sorry about it.

2. Money. The family of the victim in the Stallworth case wanted their nightmare to end. A settlement helped do that. Vick wasn't afforded the same luxury; there's no number of doggy bones that could bring Buster back (bad joke. Sorry. But fuck you for not laughing. Jerk.).

Maybe we're completely wrong on this (tell us if we are), but this seems like a pretty concrete example of how people have the willingness to forgive if responsibility is taken (this is a good thing. Steroid users, do take note).

And that people fucking love animals. Kill animals and you're all sorts of screwed. Accidentally kill a pedestrian on the other hand while breaking the law...

Most mornings, we'll lead off the day with some AM headlines -- but not your traditional ones. Rather we'll focus on one game or story and write headlines that are completely inconsequential and insignificant to the outcome of the game. We'll give a few examples and then you'll play in the comments. Best headline (read: the one that makes us laugh the hardest) will get a shoutout in this space the next day. We'll provide the box score for the game as that can lend itself to plenty of content. Let's have some fun. The more insignificant, the better!

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

Hello there.This is your weird uncle G$ from The Money Shot filling in for Zach today while he molds the minds and assholes of America’s youth.I realize that I have big, Jewish shoes to fill but I think that I can satisfy you deviants and Picturephiles.If you are unfamiliar with me, and you shouldn’t be since I’ve been commenting here since the Crimean War, you know that my little sausage fingers dispense hate at epic proportions.In fact, I’m going to use my guest post on one of Zach’s features that he really, really needs to bring back.Cue the Peter Griffin photo, because it’s time for another edition of “What Really Grinds My Gears”.

You know what really grinds my gears?Renaissance fairs.Why don’t you fucking people get with the program already?Trekkies and comic book guys and Harry Potter idiots — they all get bad raps for being friendless and dickless geeks.But the fact is, no group of people are as pathetic as those that participate in renaissance fairs.

My general hatred for these people began during my freshmen year of college when I was awaken from a peaceful drunken pass-out at 1 p.m. by some strange noises outside of my dorm room.Yep, two assholes were trying to joust each other in the attached field.There were onlookers dressed in all of their homoerotic fineries cheering these assholes on.At the time, it was the gayest thing that I had ever seen and probably still has not been topped to this day.Since I was up, I decided to head over to the dining hall for a greasy mess to help ease my Milwaukee’s Best sweats (we’ve all been there).I had an encounter with the fat black lady dispensing the food that day that went something like this:

G$:Give me some of that chicken salad please.

FBL (fat black lady):Oh, we’re out of that.Those strange people ate it all.

G$:You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.It’s the only reason that I got out of bed, dammit!

FBL:Why you so angry???

G$:Whatever, just give me 26 grilled cheeses and some chocolate milk.

So not only did these queerbaits wake me up with their fagfest, but they also ate my fucking lunch.And not just a normal lunch, either, but the always delicious hangover lunch.But that shit happened eight fucking years ago.I’ve gotten over it, finally.But the other week, I’m watching the underrated “Dinner: Impossible” on Food Network and there they are again.Robert Irvine must cook a meal for a renaissance fair using only ingredients and methodology that was used in the 16th century.

Sure, he completes the mission even with all of the pussies and skidmarks passing by and asking him questions in British accents so bad that it makes Don Cheadle’s in Ocean’s 11 seem passable.Of course, the job would not be considered a success unless “the king” of the fair approved.Yeah, the king.You mean the guy who spends his weekdays either selling used cars, working as a middle school guidance counselor or mopping up semen at the adult video store by the airport?That guy?That guy is the king of you all?Fuck that shit.

And not to go all Jerry Seinfeld here, but what’s the deal with the robes, anyway?The only people that wear robes are Hugh Hefner, Greg Oden and assholes.

Was the renaissance period so great that it warrants people re-enacting it?Am I missing something here.Wasn’t there a plague back then?Why do complete wastes of life want to recreate this time period using their own fucked up assumptions for what life was like back then?Well, I will tell you what life was like back then...shitty.Do you know why nothing from back then is still being utilized today?Because it sucked.

Get a fucking life, you asshats.How about actually contributing to the progression of TODAY’S society.And, of course, by “progression”, I mean “killing yourself and other fairies that you hang out with in some type of Jonestown Massacre”.Or you can swallow your lance.However you want to kill yourself, as long as it gets done, I’m cool with that.

Just think about it for a minute...other than Cowboys fans, is there another group of people that contribute less to the world than those that participate in renaissance fairs?

Fuck You, Penguin is officially the funniest site in the history of humor. So we're going to copy it as much as possible -- but in a sports way. They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. If you don't think this is funny, well, you suck and once let your dog lick peanut butter off your penis.

Well this is new, Pig.

What? The days of rolling in mud and smelling like rotten asshole are over? Is this the 21st Century pig? It's now white-sand beaches, crystal-clear water and fucking wave runners?

Don't bring Andrei Kirilenko into this, Pig. He didn't do anything to you. He's just trying to enjoy his vacation and then you came along to rain on the parade. If you're trying to sneak into the paparazzi shot, you think you could have at least put on some make-up or gotten your fat ass out of the FUCKING WAY.

Get off my beach, Pig, and go crawling back to Old McDonald. If you think the Big Bad Wolf was bad you haven't seen shit yet.

Monday, June 15, 2009

Give prep umpire Don Briggs some credit, the man knows how to take control of a precarious situation. During a high school game last week in West Burlington, Iowa, the crowd became unruly after a disputed play at the plate. So he did what any high school ump would do: He ejected the entire crowd.

An umpire emptied the stands at a high school baseball game, ejecting the entire crowd of more than 100 fans for being unruly.

Fucking love the AP. So concise.

Briggs then called the police and convened with the school's superintendent, both coaches and the other umps, and after a 40-minute delay it was agreed the fans could return, under the condition that any negative comments made could result in ejection and a disorderly conduct charge.

Sounds reasonable, sure. Thing is, neither the superintendent nor the cops saw any bad behavior by the fans whatsoever. So perhaps Briggs was overreacting just slightly.

Iowa sounds so damned fun, doesn't it!? And hey, West Burlington won, 12-11. So everyone went home happy.

That smiling mug to the right is of 17-year-old Eri Yoshida, Japan's first female professional baseball player. She plays for the Cruise 9's of the four-team Kansai Independent League where she took a loss this weekend while struggling to command her sidearmed knuckle ball.

THERE'S A 17-YEAR-OLD JAPANESE GIRL WHO PLAYS PROFESSIONAL BASEBALL AND THROWS A KNUCKLEBALL?!?! SIDEARM!?!? THAT'S FUCKING AWESOME!!! BUT SHE SORTA SUCKS. AND SHE'S ONLY FIVE FEET. THAT'S OK, THOUGH. SHE'S A 17-YEAR-OLD GIRL PLAYING PROFESSIONAL BASEBALL IN JAPAN AND THROWS A SIDEARM KNUCKLEBALL!! WE ARE IN FUCKING LOVE WITH ERI YOSHIDA!! THIS GIRL IS SOOOOO COOL!!!

Most mornings, we'll lead off the day with some AM headlines -- but not your traditional ones. Rather we'll focus on one game or story and write headlines that are completely inconsequential and insignificant to the outcome of the game. We'll give a few examples and then you'll play in the comments. Best headline (read: the one that makes us laugh the hardest) will get a shoutout in this space the next day. We'll provide the box score for the game as that can lend itself to plenty of content. Let's have some fun. The more insignificant, the better!

Friday, June 12, 2009

Hi, how are ya? Ready for the weekend? Watch the Finals game last night? Light some candles and sit down with a bottle of Jergens and surfthechannelx.com? Juiced about Game 7 tonight? Didn't know there was a Game 7 tonight? Gonna spend time getting to know Theresa better?

So we're entering that point of the year where we have zero time for much of anything. Various camping trips, 10-hour work days and plenty of socializing consumes the June-August stretch. But fear not, we'll have regular contributor Adam, super commenter and editor of the kick-ass The Money Shot, GMoney, and guest-writer David Kamoe filling in Monday through Thursday.

We'll be with you Friday and then, more or less, the rest of the summer. We'll really try not to suck, because then we lose readers, advertisers and money, which, well, sucks. But if things get slow, you know why. Feel free to call us out on it though.

Have fun with the guest posters this week. Chop it up in the comments and we'll see you kiddos Friday.

Fuck You, Penguin is officially the funniest site in the history of humor. So we're going to copy it as much as possible -- but in a sports way. They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. If you don't think this is funny, well, you suck and once let your dog lick peanut butter off your penis.

Comfy? So you think you can just turn the 18th into your fucking nap zone, do ya, Deer? Well golf may be slow but it sure isn't reason to sit down and relax.

Maybe you're just an obstacle. Sand trap, pond, BIG FUCKING DEER ANTLERS. But it's not your job to play spoiler, Deer. You're meant for eating people's gardens, causing car accidents and starring in motherfucking cartoons. Leave the golf to the professionals, Deer, or Bambi might have an unfortunate "accident."

How many game-tying threes in the final 10 seconds will it take before coaches realize that YOU CAN FUCKING FOUL! IT'S RIGHT THERE IN THE RULEBOOK! IF YOU MAKE CONTACT WITH THE OPPOSING PLAYER, HE GETS TO SHOOT TWO -- AS IN ONE FUCKING TWO -- FREE THROWS. You can breathe on a guy in the NBA and get called for a foul. Yet, when the game's on the line, let's let 'em take a three! Fuck, five minutes of extra basketball never hurt anyone.

If I'm an Orlando fan, I'm pulling a Tanya Harding on Stan Van Gundy's fucking kneecaps. What a devastating loss. (But strong free throw shooting by Dwight Howard at least kept the Magic in the game.)

Thursday, June 11, 2009

Who said 0-12 isn't a good recruiting tool? Fuck that, says, Nick Montana, who's daddy used to throw touchdowns and bang plenty of road beef.

Pictured throwing a football prior to nap time, the baby-faced Montana gave a verbal commitment to Washington where Steve Sarkisian will turn Montana into the next Matt Leinart or Mark Sanchez; he even has the similar 'N Sync look.

The last name doesn't automatically make Montana good, though he was ranked as the No. 13 QB by Scout.com. Even if he starts as a freshman in two years, Montana might see the remnants of a winless team. Devin Aguilar and Jermaine Kearse aren't exactly Rice and Taylor.

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

We here at The Big Picture have a long-established distaste for the NBA so imagine my own surprise when I found myself watching the beginning of last night's NBA Finals Game 3. I tuned in just in time to see the Magic's player introductions. I forgot how, aside from the BCS, these introductions might be the worst thing in sports. Bizarre mascots and cheerleaders descending from the rafters on wires, crazy lights flashing all over, highlight videos, the list goes on. It's one thing to do it for the finals, but we all know this kind of nonsense happens before most regular season games as well. Yet another reason to tune out the NBA.

Stephen Strasburg, the first pick in yesterday's MLB Draft, and Bryan Bullington have four things in common:

1. They are No. 1 overall picks2. They are pitchers3. They played collegiate ball for non-powerhouse schools (San Diego State and Ball State, respectively)4. They have bad baseball names. Stephen Strasburg sounds like an investment banker, Bryan Bullington is in pharmaceutical sales.

Other than that, Strasburg hopes his career in no way parallels that of Bullington's, the top pick in the 2002 Draft, by Pittsburgh. In parts of four major league seasons with three teams, Bullington has not recorded a win and has appeared in just 13 games. This season, with Toronto, has been his best. He's logged six innings, allowing two runs.

The Pirates picked Bullington in part because of his signability. Other players in the Draft -- B.J. Upton, Prince Fielder -- would have commanded more money.

Quick aside: Holy fucking shit was the 2002 Draft stacked with pitchers! Now back to the rest of the column.

This, of course, is not to slight Bullington or the Pirates, it's just another case study in how unpredictable the MLB Draft can be.

Which brings us to Strasburg. The flame-throwing righty is being billed as a "sure thing," a "can't-miss" prospect. We can't be so sure. How the power pitcher's game will translate to the big leagues is hard to tell. He'll spend a couple years in the minors, facing hitters far better than he did with the Aztecs. And he's with the Nationals. The weight that organization will put on him could prove damning.

So, yeah, will Strasburg be the next Bullington? Maybe. And Matt Hobgood (pick No. 6) will be the next Cole Hamels.

Most mornings, we'll lead off the day with some AM headlines -- but not your traditional ones. Rather we'll focus on one game or story and write headlines that are completely inconsequential and insignificant to the outcome of the game. We'll give a few examples and then you'll play in the comments. Best headline (read: the one that makes us laugh the hardest) will get a shoutout in this space the next day. We'll provide the box score for the game as that can lend itself to plenty of content. Let's have some fun. The more insignificant, the better!

Tuesday, June 09, 2009

Like seriously, there is nothing going on that's related to sports and involves either humor or boobs. Check around the Web a little bit. The most interesting thing I read today involved a way to get porn passwords from a bot or something like that. I tried for 30 seconds before stopping in fear of my computer exploding. (If you have any porn passwords -- Brazzers, Naughty American, RealityKings -- we'll trade you a shoutout for endless jerk material. Send your passwords here. You'll be heavily thanked).

So let's talk about movies. Today's question: Name the best movie(s) you've seen in the last few months. Can either be on video or in the theater.

Feel like we haven't seen a very good movie in a while. We have high standards, yes, but it's been a while since like seeing a GREAT movie. Here's what we've seen/re-seen lately that does stand out:

-I Love You, Man-Role Models-Memento-Big Fish -- I fucking love this movie. I have no idea why. I don't usually like those fable-like movies and Tim Burton is fucking weirdo who probably killed insects as a child. But this movie gets me every time. If you're in the mood for a good cry, check it out.-Taken

Monday, June 08, 2009

I was out with some buddies at this club and I was DDing. They're all getting tossed and I'm the awkward guy with his hands stuffed in his pockets looking slightly annoyed.

My buddies have lost inhibition, so are naturally talking to the hot girl with the fakies and also the overweight chicks with the prison tats.

I'm clearly interested in the idea of actually talking to the hottie with the fakies. I don't actually wanna talk to her (I was told later that she said she was from Richmond, Calif., despite saying that she was from the South Bay. Richmond is in the East Bay and a good hour from anything slightly resembling the South Bay.) but I want to know that I could talk to her.

But I had no idea how to initiate the conversation. Making me think, I need some sort of gimmick that serves as a conversation starter.

For example, in I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell, the author has one of those store-bought breathalyzers so you know how drunk you are before you're facing a breathalyzer in a far worse situation. He basically gets wasted while checking his BAC after every drink. He naturally gets the whole bar involved and then throws up all over himself. Had he cut himself off, he would have totally gotten laid.

Other ideas for good ice breakers include going waaaay overdressed (like nice suit and tie) to a dive bar, pretending to be foreign, actually being foreign, pretending to be new to the city. Your ice breakers highly encouraged for everyone's sake in the comments.

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Meanwhile, there was one chick Saturday who was beyond smoking hot. She was like Eva Longoria with sexy piercings and tattoos and probably got paid to dance naked at one point in time. While in line for the bathroom, she comes over and asks what nationality my brother and I are. I think that was her way of saying she wanted to fuck me. Yeah, she definitely wanted to fuck me.

I told her that I was whatever she wanted me to be and she laughed and I came a little. But then what looks like the club manager (or owner) comes and opens like a secret door and she follows him in. I then say to her, "What's going on back there?"

She responds: "Wouldn't you like to know?"

I don't like hypothetical questions. Well, I would like to know. That's why I asked the fucking question.

There is no doubt that she blew him. He looked like a relative of Tony Soprano. With a big chain necklace. Sometimes I hate this world.

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Feel like I say this every year: the NCAA Baseball Tournament is the best tournament that nobody talks about. There's no Fresno State this year, but nonetheless, always a fun tourney. Tune in to the CWS as we'll surely be talking about it in the coming weeks.

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I think I've said this before, but Clear and Present Danger is on every single day. (AMC yesterday. Probably USA the day before. Probably TNT the day before that. FX tomorrow.) There's no other way to explain it. Easily the most showed movie in the history of cinema and television. Solid movie though.

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I was proposed this question over the weekend: name one TV series where the show's first season wasn't the best season. I came up with Arrested Development. Saved By the Bell, maybe, because Kelly Kapowski gets older and her tits get bigger.

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Anybody still watching the NBA Finals? In five years, "The Orlando Magic," will be the answer to the very difficult trivia question, "Who did the Lakers sweep in the 2009 Finals?"

FUCK LA! FUCK THE NBA! What's it going to take for people to realize that this is a very flawed, uninteresting league? C'mon, who's with us?! REVOLUTION!

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